A Tale of 3 Witches (6 page)

"We did it! Holy shit, we actually did it!" Gus grinned. And then they were forcibly yanked out of the room and back to the basement.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The three of them spluttered back to consciousness, to see Birdie dumping out pitchers of ice water on them.

"Knock it off," Stacy snapped. "That's freezing cold."

Lolly grinned. "Good to have you back, toots. You had us worried. You three certainly took long enough."

Birdie interrupted. "Did you finish it?"

Stacy nodded, shivering.

Gus sat up and grabbed discarded blankets from the floor. He tossed one each to Mara and Stacy, and wrapped the third around himself.

Mara looked at Fiona. "She's looking a lot better."

Just then, Fiona yawned and sat up. "I'm starving. Where's my coffee and pumpkin pie? And I want extra whipped cream."

Lolly giggled and hugged her sister. Birdie clasped her hands together in relief. And the rest of the coven broke out in spontaneous applause.

*   *   *

While the rest of the coven was grounding out on cookies, pumpkin pie and brandy, Birdie, Lolly, Stacy, Mara and Gus went to check on their conquest. Stacy noticed that the hallway was back to it's original state. And the room number on the door read
two
instead of
owt.
And this time, when Birdie touched the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing Mr. Henderson, laying on the floor, sound asleep. So they all backed out of the room and quietly closed the door.

*   *   *

Mr. Henderson came down early the next morning, disconcerted and unsure of where he was and how he had arrived there. He had a wicked migraine, his neck was incredibly stiff and the only thing he wanted to do was to go home.

So, while Birdie was giving him some migraine pills and putting an icepack on his head and a heating pad on his neck, Mara, Stacy and Gus packed up Mr. Henderson's clothes and got rid of his magical accoutrements – which he didn't seem to remember as belonging to him. And then, Birdie shipped him off in a taxi.

The daily paper came out with a special edition early that afternoon, headlining a story of how a number of trick-or-treaters had fallen victim to what must have been either contaminated cider or contaminated candy. After spending the night in the hospital, they had all been released, healthy as ever, but the city was warning trick-or-treaters to toss out their candy from this year.

As Fiona happily cooked up a feast with Birdie, Mara and Gus packed and prepared to leave. Gus cleansed the weapons they had borrowed and Stacy promised to return them to Mr. Charon for them -- she was seriously curious to see what one of Birdie's childhood admirers was like.

Later, the entire coven came over for a late "thank-you" lunch. It would have been dinner, but since Mara and Gus had a long drive ahead of them, Birdie had bumped it up to lunch. And, as promised, it was formidable and incredibly tasty. There was no one, for miles around, who was a better cook than Fiona and Birdie. Afterwards, Mara and Gus left the Geraghty Girls' B&B amid hugs and laughter and promises of more get-togethers in the future.

As Mara was about to get in the car, Stacy ran up and gave her a small statue of a Great Dane that looked just like Thor.

"So you always remember us!" Stacy whispered in Mara's ear as Mara hugged her.

"As if I could ever forget!" Mara whispered back.

Suddenly, Stacy lurched sideways and then tripped, falling into Gus.

Gus caught her, laughing. "I think Grundleshanks and Tillie are trying to say goodbye."

"Your aunt...!" Stacy shook her head in exasperation at Mara.

"I know," Mara said. "She'll be the death of all of us. But hopefully, not today!"

And as easily as that, the two witches cemented their friendship, forming a bond that would last a lifetime--and beyond.

*   *   *

As Mara and Gus drove away, Tillie shimmered an appeared in the back seat.

"You'd better get a move on, toots." Tillie snorted.

"Why?" Mara asked, swinging around. "Is the baby in trouble?"

"It's not the baby. It's Paul. If you don't want to see his brain splattered on the walls, drive faster."

"Gus!" Mara said, panicked. "Floor it!"

Gus complied. And with a buck and a jump, Zed, their Ford Explorer Hybrid, zoomed down the freeway, full speed ahead.

~~~

First Witch:
When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Second Witch:
When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won. 

Macbeth, 1.1

About Christiana Miller

Christiana Miller is a novelist, screenwriter and mom who's led an unusual life. In addition to writing for
General Hospital: Night Shift
and
General Hospital
, she's had her DNA shot into space (where she's currently cohabiting in a drawer with Stephen Colbert and Stephen Hawking), and she's been the voices of all the female warriors in
Mortal Kombat II
and
III
. If her life was a TV show, it would be a wacky dramedy filled with eccentric characters who get themselves into bizarre situations. Miller's first novel,
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead
, is currently available at
Amazon
. To learn more about her, you can visit her
website
or link up with her on
Facebook
, on
Twitter
, or
email
her at [email protected].

*   *   *

About Barbra Annino

Barbra Annino writes the Stacy Justice mystery series. If you like your fiction served with a helping of funny and a smattering of quirky characters, check out
OPAL FIRE
, BLOODSTONE and the upcoming TIGER'S EYE at
Amazon
. She also has a collection of short stories including the popular
Gnome Wars.
For more information, visit her on the web at her website, on
Facebook
,
Twitter
or
email
her.

If you enjoyed
A TALE OF THREE WITCHES
, you may also enjoy:

SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD
by
Christiana Miller

SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD (excerpt)

By Christiana Miller

At the beginning of this whole, surreal journey, I had no idea you could be evicted from your body as easily as you could be booted out of your apartment. Easier, actually, since there's none of those pesky laws in place to protect you. But it all started out so innocently . . .  With a streak of bad luck.

One of the problems with being a witch is when you ask the universe a question, it generally gives you an answer. Or just enough of one to ruin a perfectly good week.

But since it was my birthday . . .

And since I was an eternal optimist . . .

And mostly 'cause I was stuck at the longest red light in the history of traffic, with nothing else to do . . .

I dug my tarot deck out of my purse and pulled three cards for the coming year. 

Death.

Three of Swords.

The Tower.

Transformation. Sorrow. Change through destruction.
Happy birthday to me.

Damn it. I shouldn't have looked. You'd think I'd know better by now. Damn tarot cards always suckered me into peeking into my future and I just about always regretted it. Because the hell of it was . . .

They were usually right.

After a quick stop at Trader Joe's, I was finally home. I propped the grocery bag on my hip, wrestled open the wrought iron gate and placed my hand on my mailbox.
Mara Stephens, Apt 1-C
.

I stood for a second, hoping my unemployment check was in there and tried to read the vibes. This was a game I always played with myself -- a small psychic exercise to keep my '
sight'
sharp. But I didn't feel any sense of urgency or hope. Just a whopping dose of dread.

Great. So my guess was no check, but at least one major bill I'd have to pay. I unlocked the box and quickly sorted through the mail. Sure enough -- a sale flyer from the Crooked Pantry, a birthday card from a temp agency and a pink notice from the Dept. of Water and Power.

Good thing I had plenty of candles to fall back on. And a swimming pool. Maybe I could shower over the drain in the courtyard, with the garden hose. People washed their dogs there all the time. And my shampoo was considerably less toxic than flea dip.

Tucked into the back of the mailbox was a reminder about the rent. At least that was one thing I didn't need to worry about. Lenny knew I was good for it. How much longer I'd be able to pay the rent though . . .  That thought made me queasy.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hit my stomach and clenched it hard. Forget crawling, gooseflesh positively raced across my arms. I struggled to breathe. Whatever was wrong, it all seemed to be coming from the direction of my apartment.

I dropped my mail into the grocery bag and peeked around the corner of the mail stand. Behind the screen door, my front door was wide open.

Shit!
I ducked back behind the mailboxes and fumbled through my purse for my cell phone.

I flipped open the phone and hit 9-1-1.

Busy.

I hung up and tried again.

Still busy.

Bloody hell. No wonder the crime rate was so high in Los Angeles. I didn't know what the non-emergency number was, so I decided to call my home phone and warn the intruder to clear out.

If I was lucky, it would just be a break-in. A simple case of anonymous robbery. I'd warn them that I was on my way home and they'd hit the road with their haul.

But as I punched in the first three digits, the phone beeped, the battery icon blinked and the screen went black.

Damn it.
I shoved the phone back into my purse and took another look at my apartment. The living room lights had been turned on against the gathering dusk. But why would robbers turn on the lights? Didn't that negate the whole idea of stealth?

I crept closer. That's when I saw Mrs. Lasio, the new building manager, planted like a bull in my living room.

Great. Just freaking great.
Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't it have been some whacked-out crack-head carting off my TV?

If you enjoyed this excerpt, click here to purchase
SOMEBODY TELL AUNT TILLIE SHE'S DEAD
.

If you enjoyed
A TALE OF THREE WITCHES
, you may also enjoy:

OPAL FIRE by Barbra Annino

OPAL FIRE (excerpt)

by Barbra Annino

You might say everything was fine until the fire.

I was back in my hometown and living in my grandmother's guest cottage. I had a steady boyfriend, a steady job and a sturdy dog.

Right now, my main concern was the dog.

"Stacy!" Cinnamon yelled through the haze of hot smoke. "Are you still in here?" The panic in her voice matched the fear pumping through my veins.

"I can't find Thor!" I coughed back.

"He'll be fine. Just get out!" Cinnamon was about to step forward when a beam whistled, then cracked and plunged into the floorboards. A wave of sparks shot into the air, barricading her in the back room of the bar.

I sure hoped that exit wasn't locked and if it was, I prayed Cinnamon had the keys with her.

"Cin," I choked. I couldn't see my cousin anymore through the thick fog and debris, so I stepped forward.

A wave of fire licked the air -- too close to my eyebrows for comfort. It forced me to lunge backwards into a beer barrel. I lost my footing, scrambling for anything to sustain a landing. My arm caught the edge of the brass foot rail as I went down -- the searing pain instant and vicious.